A couple of months ago I celebrated my first year at a job with an annual review (the annual review was the thing with which I celebrated the year, I wasn’t celebrated a year at a job with an annual review). Was I scared? Yes. Why? Because I’m aware of my own work ethic. Should I have been? Nope. I received a glowing review. I sat tense in my supervisor’s office, waiting to hear the diagnosis. Did I test positive for fired? She sat across from me and smiled and then proceeded to applaud my mediocrity like it was a gem in shit. I had been contemplating working harder in order to earn my stay, but then I learned that my ‘eh’ is their ‘amazing.’ I have to thank the shitty people who worked in my position before for sucking so hardcore.
Now I try not to do much more than I did before: who wants to screw over the person to replace them? If I perform at my utmost, no one can fill my shoes. As it is, I don’t think anyone can. I’m pretty amazing. So I’m told. So I knew. And so humble too. No, I’m not. I am, however, trapped in the black hole of despair with no career aspirations, so why should I be humble? I’m depressing. I walk by people and watch their smiles disappear; I watch flowers wither and die. It’s like the one spark of light in my day.
Also, surprisingly enough, my greatest asset is my personality. Ha! Suck it everyone who ever met me and was like ‘your personality causes cancer.’ Unless you meant it causes dick cancer on a pedophile that requires his dirty dick to fall off, you’re wrong. I have a boss to prove it.
Yeah, I’m a really good worker.